


do you never wonder?

by taywen



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Multi, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Royal Spymaster Daud (Dishonored)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: “If I may be so bold—”“When has a lack of permission ever stopped you?” Corvo mutters, rolling his eyes; Daud snorts in obvious agreement. Were Anton not in dire shortage of people in court who didn’t fawn over him in transparent bids for his art or technology, and on the verge of having a bit of fun at their expense, he might take offense at that.“—both of them, Your Majesty?” Anton inquires as guilelessly as he can manage.Five people witness the developing relationship of the Empress, her Royal Protector, and her newly-appointed Spymaster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](http://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=535742#cmt535742) prompt on the kinkmeme, requesting an AU where Daud doesn't assassinate Jessamine and instead the OT3 happens.

The first time Mary sees the scarred man’s face - in the flesh, not printed on a wanted poster - he’s sneaking out of Her Majesty’s office.

Mary shrieks, her armful of linens falling unheeded to the ground as she looks around for a guard - the Royal Protector himself, ideally—

A gloved hand clamps over her mouth, cutting her scream short. How had he crossed the distance between so quickly?! Mary struggles, scrabbling at his arm, but the leather offers no purchase for her blunt nails.

The door to Her Majesty’s office bursts open a moment later, revealing the Royal Protector and the Empress herself.

“Don’t kill her,” Lord Corvo says sharply, glaring at Mary’s assailant. The notion that the thief might kill her only makes Mary redouble her struggles.

“If I was going to _kill_ her—” the scarred man starts to retort.

“That’s enough,” Her Majesty says. Her voice is always so gentle, even in rare moments of anger; it’s only the undertone of steel that gives any indication of the tension she feels. “Bring her inside, Daud.”

 _Daud._ The Knife of Dunwall. This man isn’t a thief, he’s a notorious assassin. Mary flinches, her knees going weak; Daud grunts but doesn’t stumble as he takes her weight, more or less dragging her into the office.

Mary trembles, nearly falling when Daud releases her before Her Majesty’s desk. She’s torn between begging for forgiveness and keeping her silence out of fear of angering Her Majesty further.

“Mary - it is Mary, isn’t it?” Her Majesty begins mildly.

Mary bobs her head in a nod that threatens to become a wavering bow from how deeply she dips forward. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she says hoarsely, so quiet that she’d be surprised if any of them manage to hear her. “I didn’t mean—”

Her Majesty holds up her hand and Mary’s mouth shuts with an audible click; she barely notices the dull ache that follows in its wake. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Mary. This situation is simply—” Her Majesty’s eyes flick to Daud, standing somewhere behind Mary. She almost forgot he was there; it’s as if he has no presence at all, like he’s one of the servants. Nobles always make sure everyone knows they’re there.

“—complicated?” Daud rumbles. He almost sounds amused; Mary must be hysterical, to imagine a murderer as notorious as the Knife of Dunwall might find anything amusing.

Lord Corvo straightens up, glaring at Daud again. Mary shrinks away, uneasy despite knowing she isn’t the target of the Royal Protector’s ire.

Her Majesty purses her lips in annoyance.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to someone like me, Your Majesty,” Mary murmurs, her hands curling into nervous fists at her side - a poor substitute for her habit of wringing them together in times of stress. She bites her lip to keep from rambling, another nervous habit that will serve her even more poorly than her hand-wringing. Babbling something like _I’m sure whoever you need killed deserves it_ or something similar is the last thing she needs, even if she believes it. She’s worked for other nobles before, and they don’t treat their servants half as well as the Empress on a bad day—

Daud scoffs, an expression that it takes Mary half a second to recognize as a grin on his face when she glances at him.

 _She was talking aloud this whole time_. Oh, Outsider’s crooked— Mary bites down on the inside of her cheek again, hard, which will hopefully be enough to stop her from rambling any _more_.

“I won’t tell. I swear, Your Majesty, I won’t breathe so much as a whisper about seeing anyone strange,” Mary says earnestly.

“Who would you tell?” Mary’s heart stutters for a second when she hears Daud’s voice, all traces of anything human scraped out. The cold, rough tone that’s left behind is exactly what she would have expected the Knife of Dunwall to sound like, if she’d ever given it any thought at all.

Her Majesty’s brow furrows and Mary cringes again, torn between answering the murderer behind her and incurring the annoyance of her mistress.

“Answer him, please, Mary,” Her Majesty says.

“I wouldn’t tell no one!” Mary blurts out. “I just said I wouldn’t and I won’t! I swear it, please—”

“But if you had seen myself and the Empress together in her office, and we hadn’t noticed, who would you have told?”

“The— Royal Protector?” Mary could cry from confusion and distress. “A guard? Someone who could protect Her Majesty from you!”

Corvo makes a strange sound, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in the strange not-smile he sometimes made when someone did something he found amusing and he felt he shouldn’t show it. Well, if he’s amused and not ready to kill her, that could only be a good sign, couldn’t it? But Her Majesty’s expression is harder to read, and it ultimately comes down to what the Empress thinks.

“Not the Royal Spymaster?”

Mary can’t keep the incredulous look off her face at Daud’s question. If an assassin was already in the same room as Her Majesty, what good would _Burrows_ be? He carries a sword - most nobles do - but she can’t imagine him actually _using_ it with any kind of skill.

“I suppose I could tell the matron so she could have someone bring up tea,” Mary says tartly.

Corvo snorts, ducking his head, but not quickly enough to hide his smirk.

“That will be all, Mary. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone and we’ll never speak of this again,” Her Majesty says kindly.

“You’re not going to offer her a bonus?” Daud sounds disbelieving.

Her Majesty fixes Daud with an annoyed look that makes any semblance of composure Mary had managed to regain flee again. “Not so obviously,” she says, as if she’s speaking to— not Lady Emily, but a child to which she isn’t so kindly inclined, or perhaps a particularly irritating noble who ought to know better. “People would notice. They would talk. I would remark to the matron that Mary did her job well and improve her situation in that manner. _After_ everything is settled, then I would provide proper compensation for Mary’s loyalty.”

Mary tries not to cringe. “That’s hardly necessary, Your Majesty,” she mumbles.

“On the contrary. But we’ve taken enough of your time, Mary. I’m sure you have other duties to attend to.”

Mary ducks into a curtsy and takes her leave, casting a final glance at the assassin as she slips past him.

He’s staring at Her Majesty like he’s never seen her before; considering her face is minted on every coin and scattered across the city on various busts and statues, that would be quite the feat indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Anton’s relationship with Hiram Burrows was a complicated one. The paranoid man could always be counted on to push for funding whenever Anton mentioned new security innovations; but whenever they were in the same room together for too long, Burrows had the irritating tendency to start sneering or otherwise looking down his nose at the _Tyvian_ Royal Physician.

It’s nothing Anton hasn’t dealt with before, although that xenophobic prejudice ceased to be so overt after Jessamine appointed him. Few of Gristol’s court were Anton’s equals in truth then, even if they still considered themselves his betters, but Burrows was one of them. At the very least, Anton doubts he’ll face the same from Burrows’ replacement; whoever they are, they’ll surely toe the line with great care after what happened to their predecessor.

Execution for treason against the Crown does tend to put the fear of said Crown into people.

Most of the court seems dazed by Jessamine’s seemingly sudden punishment; they considered her weaker than Euhorn, who was already seen as soft. Anton enjoys the stunned atmosphere that settles over Dunwall’s upper echelon, though his amusement drains into irritation soon enough.

Jessamine had confided in him that Burrows - and the Pendleton twins - had been behind the introduction of the plague to the city. Some kind of delusional scheme to cull the poor. And then, when Jessamine had told Burrows to look into the matter, he’d gotten scared and, with the financial backing of High Overseer Campbell and one of the Boyle Ladies, hired an assassin to murder her.

Anton has some contact with the criminal underworld, but the only assassin of repute that he can think of is the Knife of Dunwall. And if the Knife of Dunwall had taken the job, even Corvo Attano couldn’t have stopped him. So it must have been someone else, because Anton can’t imagine how else Jessamine would have come to find out about the plague’s origin and the attempted coup except by Corvo foiling the attempt.

“You’ll meet them soon,” Jessamine said when Anton interrogated her on the subject. “I’m appointing them to replace Burrows.”

Anyone else referring to the man who’d brought such ruin to their city might have prefaced the man’s name with “that bastard” or something similar; Jessamine utters the traitor’s name normally, as if she hadn’t destroyed his life in retribution. Or perhaps the knowledge that Burrows’ legacy would be forever tarnished was satisfaction enough.

But that reply only meant Corvo was not the one who uncovered the plot. Even if he had, surely Jessamine wouldn’t appoint him Spymaster; he was already her Royal Protector. After Jessamine departed, Anton was left with only more questions.

* * *

He receives word of a meeting with the new Spymaster a few days later. It is a welcome reprieve; his work on the plague elixir - at a standstill; uncovering the source of the plague didn’t leave him any closer to finding a _cure_ \- is incapable of holding his interest, and he dwells on the mystery of the new Spymaster perhaps more often than he should.

The man sitting in the meeting room is familiar, though Anton hasn’t seen his face in years. His coat is cut along similar lines to Burrows’, though it is predominantly crimson rather than black, and lacks the ridiculous collar. Black gloves conceal hands that Anton imagines are as scarred as his face; his line of work isn’t a gentle one.

“Anton.”

His gaze snaps to Jessamine, seated at the head of the table, to Daud’s right. Corvo stands at her right shoulder, his expression neutral.

“Your Majesty.” He remembers to bow, barely, and takes the seat across from her.

“This is—”

“—Daud, yes, we’ve met.” The words come out more curtly than Anton intends, but he’s still reeling. This doesn’t quite make sense. Daud considered himself a consummate professional; if Burrows had approached him about murdering the Empress, Anton would never have imagined he would turn on an employer. But perhaps there was more to the man than the butcher that his moniker would suggest.

Jessamine pauses, a single blink the only indication of her surprise. “Ah. How do you know each other?”

He can see Daud shooting him a glare from the corner of his eye, but Anton isn’t concerned with the man’s ire. Surely an assassin - former or otherwise; Burrows had certainly made use of paid killers in his capacity as Spymaster, even if he’d never stooped to dirtying his hands himself - won’t be stupid enough to kill the Royal Physician. Who else will cure the plague, if not Anton?

“I painted his portrait when he studied at the Academy,” Anton explains. He doesn’t want her to think he hired Daud to kill someone - not that he hasn’t _considered_ having some of his more irritating fellow natural philosophers disposed of, but there are other means to achieve that, should the matter become pressing.

“You have a Sokolov portrait,” Corvo says flatly.

Daud’s expression darkens, his upper lip curling back from his teeth as he rounds on Corvo.

“He didn’t want it. I sold it to a noble for funding,” Anton says, before Daud can speak.

“There’s a Sokolov portrait with your face kicking around Dunwall somewhere?” Corvo asks with the understated, smug superiority that came from his own avoidance of earning the (apparently dubious) honour of a Sokolov portrait. Ungrateful bastards, the both of them, but Anton pushes his outrage aside in favour of watching the byplay between his two colleagues.

“We’ll find it eventually,” Daud says stiffly, his teeth bared in a poor semblance of a smile. Corvo’s barely-contained smirk is little better.

“Boys, please,” is all Jessamine says, but it’s enough to wipe the smirk off Corvo’s face and make Daud back off slightly. He still looks mutinous, but he’s not engaged in a glaring contest with Corvo any longer. “If you painted Daud at the Academy, Anton, do you know who Daud was beyond those halls?”

“Of course.” Anton waves a hand dismissively. “Why do you think I found him interesting enough to paint for free?”

“You sold the damn painting anyway, don’t act as if you got nothing out of it!” Daud growls.

Jessamine nods and continues as if she hadn’t heard him. “That does make introductions easier. Daud also knows a natural philosopher working to cure the plague. Apparently he also has a preventative—”

“I am _not_ working with Piero Joplin,” Anton snaps.

Jessamine raises an eyebrow. “So you know him as well.”

“Absolutely not,” Anton says, but he already knows how this will end.

Jessamine is gracious in victory, a trait that makes his capitulation marginally less bitter to swallow. Anyone else, and Anton wouldn’t have backed down at all, but the Empress made an eloquent argument for collaborating with Joplin. Corvo and Daud’s unsubtle enjoyment of Anton’s surrender to the inevitable rankled more, but somehow he doubts either of them would be able to stand up to Jessamine with any more success.

Anton has never known how to let things lie, however. As the meeting winds down and the conversation turns to less serious matters, he can’t resist trying to get a bit of his own back.

“So now you have a Tyvian Royal Physician and Serkonans appointed as your Spymaster and Protector. What’s next?” Anton muses. “A High Overseer from Morley?”

“Actually—”

Jessamine quells Daud with a look, then gives Anton the polite smile she usually reserves for courtiers. “It’s under consideration,” she says mildly.

Anton glances between them, surprised at Daud’s swift obedience. Of even more interest is the way Corvo is glaring at Anton from Jessamine’s other side; an expression mirrored by Daud. Somehow he doubts pointing out that particular similarity would be well received.

“Is there anything else, Dr. Sokolov?”

Relegated to cool formality, and politely invited to dismiss himself in the same breath. “If I may be so bold—”

“When has a lack of permission ever stopped you?” Corvo mutters, rolling his eyes; Daud snorts in obvious agreement. Were Anton not in dire shortage of people in court who didn’t fawn over him in transparent bids for his art or technology, and on the verge of having a bit of fun at their expense, he might take offense at that.

“—both of them, Your Majesty?” Anton inquires as guilelessly as he can manage.

“What?!” Daud yelps at a considerably higher octave than Anton would have thought him capable of. Anton watches with no small amount of amusement as Daud’s face flushes rather tellingly.

For his part, Corvo - trained out of blushing by Jessamine years ago - sputters wordlessly.

Jessamine merely meets his gaze evenly, but the suggestion of a smirk lurks at the corners of her mouth. “Who we take to bed is no concern of yours, Dr. Sokolov.”

Equal odds whether she means herself and Corvo - arguably the worst kept secret in the Empire - or the majestic plural; either way, it’s as good a confirmation as any.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Anton bows and retreats, discretion being the better part of valour, before the Royal Spymaster and Royal Protector can recover their dignity and come after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Viola’s had several flutes of champagne and only one or two of the tiny hors d’oeuvres. She isn’t hungry though; the alcohol fizzes pleasantly in her veins, suffusing her with a warmth that Dunwall has seemed to lack these past few months. The worsening of the plague, and then the upheaval at court - Burrows, Campbell, the Pendleton twins and Waverley Boyle all executed in one fell swoop - have left the Empire’s capital rather desolate of late.

But things are looking up. The Empress is holding a ball to raise the spirit of the people - well, the spirit of the nobility, but who really _cares_ what the masses think? - and Esma Boyle has taken a liking to her. Viola has spent most of the night with her, and her remaining sister Lydia, and the last Pendleton brother. Treavor, apparently; he’d flushed when Viola hadn’t remembered his name, but Esma and Lydia had only laughed.

“Who—” Viola sways, but Esma catches her easily. How Esma can remain so unaffected when she’s downed so many more drinks than Viola is a mystery; perhaps if Viola asks her, Esma will see fit to impart her secret. “Who is that ugly scarred bastard with the Empress?”

Esma titters. “The new Spymaster, darling.”

“Yes,” Viola says impatiently, “I know that much. What I meant was—” she waves vaguely at the man, conversing with the Empress and Corvo, “— _why_. Why would the Empress appoint _him_. Who _is_ he?”

“You sweet, innocent thing,” Esma purrs. 

“He was the Knife of Dunwall,” Lydia says flatly. She doesn’t seem to be enjoying the party as much as Esma and Viola; perhaps she doesn’t like the champagne. Viola can’t recall her getting another glass once this whole night.

Treavor makes some sound; when Viola glances at him, his sallow face looks even paler. She looks at Daud again. The scar marring the right side of his face is unusual and striking; fitting, for an assassin. But why the Empress would want such a man as her Spymaster is still beyond Viola. 

“Perhaps she has a fetish for Serkonans?”

Treavor chokes, sputtering on his champagne. “Really, must we?” he complains.

Esma throws her head back and _laughs_ , drawing the attention of many of those nearby. 

Viola catches more than a few envious looks from other young noblewomen, which only makes her bolder, basking in Esma’s favour and delighted to make the most of it. “Was that rude of me to say?” she asks, pouting for effect. “I suppose I shouldn’t listen to the rumours surrounding the Empress and Corvo.”

“You are simply delightful, my dear,” Esma breathes, clutching at Viola’s arm for support. “I haven’t laughed like that since—” Her expression freezes, those beautiful blue eyes chilling.

Treavor coughs and fumbles for his flask while Lydia heaves a sigh. Viola wracks her brain for a suitable topic to move to; she hadn’t meant to upset them.

“—at any rate,” Esma continues, her tone still bright but now somehow false, “I doubt the Empress is fucking him.”

“Esma,” Treavor snaps, then takes a hearty gulp from the flask.

“I’m sure young Viola has no wish to hear about the men you’ve bedded, dear sister. Or tried to, as the case may be,” Lydia drawls.

“He _turned you down_?” Viola demands, scandalized. Esma is one of the most beautiful women in the city, even if she is getting on in her years. Daud is surely older; he’s certainly uglier. What man of his status would _turn down_ the chance to bed Esma Boyle?

“Some men are immune to even my charms.” Esma brushes her hair back gracefully, sighing in disappointment.

“So he could be after Corvo?”

That lightens Esma’s mood again. She titters, covering her mouth with one perfectly manicured hand.

“This is hardly appropriate,” Treavor hisses.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Treavor,” Esma says sharply. “Perhaps if you weren’t such a spineless twit, Waverley would have found you palatable and then she wouldn’t be _dead_ like your brothers.”

Viola watches with wide eyes as they glare at each other, Lydia frowning faintly in the background. Treavor breaks first, his gaze darting aside; he reaches out and exchanges his empty glass for a full one as a servant passes by.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. I can’t speak for Corvo, but Daud claimed to be uninterested in carnal pleasures of any sort.” Esma shrugs dismissively.

“More likely he just didn’t want to catch anything,” Treavor mutters, low enough that Esma seems not to hear.

“The new Spymaster is watching the Empress and Corvo rather closely though, isn’t he?” Esma muses.

“Oh, please,” Lydia sighs. “Can we not converse for five minutes without discussing who the Empress takes to bed?”

“The musicians look lonely, if you’re in need of more scintillating, lowborn conversation, dear sister,” Esma says sweetly. Viola bites the inside of her lip to keep from giggling.

The look Lydia shoots her older sister is full of venom, and she flounces off in the direction of the musicians in one corner.

“Oh, dear. I seem to have upset her.” Esma takes a long sip of champagne, and when she lowers her glass her eyes are bright.

Viola drains her own flute. “How did you know Daud was the Knife of Dunwall?” she asks, once she’s done.

Treavor snorts, then quickly ducks his head, fiddling with the cap of the flask he’s been taking sips from in between glasses of champagne.

Esma smiles, revealing perfect teeth. “Darling, sometimes you simply need someone taken care of.”

Viola desperately wants to ask _who_ but the ice in Esma’s eyes dissuades her. “I see,” she says instead, somewhat lamely.

“They’re gone.” Esma’s brow creases for a moment as she scans the ballroom; Viola does the same, but she can’t find Daud, Corvo or the Empress. Corvo is usually easy to pick out of the crowd, looming several inches above even the tallest men.

“The two of them at once— the Empress is ambitious,” Viola says.

Esma clutches her arm, her grip tight enough to skirt the edge of pain. Viola looks at her, startled; there’s a strange light in Esma’s pale eyes. “You should go after them.”

“Wha—” Viola’s stomach drops at the very thought. What if any of them see her?

“Darling, you must,” Esma insists, pressing closer. Her breath smells like champagne when it tickles Viola’s cheek. “Imagine what a scandal it would be!”

“I— All right,” Viola says, helpless to disagree.

“They went down that corridor,” Treavor adds, tipping his head to indicate the hallway nearest to where the Empress had been standing.

Viola grabs the champagne flute out of Treavor’s hand, ignoring his startled protest as she drains it. Esma’s soft laughter bolsters her as she slips down the corridor in search of the Empress.

She stumbles upon them in a back passage that she’s never seen before. Daud has the Empress backed up against a table, or so it appears at first glance. But the longer Viola stares - heart in her throat, this is _so much more_ than she could have dared hope for - the more she thinks that the Empress is the one initiating.

Daud’s hands are braced on the table to either side of the Empress, but it seems more for support than an attempt to cage the Empress in. Besides, she has a hand curled around the back of his neck and there’s a challenging expression on her face that Viola has never seen before, whereas Daud just looks— startled. But even as she watches, his surprise fades into something _hungry_ as he starts to lean in—

“Have you lost your way, milady?” The seemingly polite question is voiced in a low murmur right next to her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, not from Corvo’s intimate closeness but from the deadly threat in his quiet words.

Viola had heard rumours of Corvo throwing one of the Pendleton twins out of a party - or was it Parliament? - but she’d assumed they were exaggerated. Likewise, she’d supposed that Corvo was a passable swordsman - it didn’t make sense for the Empress to have appointed him merely because they were fucking - but Viola had never considered Corvo as a _threat_ before. There’d been assassination attempts foiled by him, but most of those were behind closed doors, not in public, where the court could see Corvo in action.

“I—” Viola gasps out, too loud, her mind racing and yet not a single _useful_ thought in her head. Dimly, she sees Daud tense and start to pull away, but the Empress keeps her grip on his neck, catching a wrist in her other hand to keep him close. “I was looking for the— facilities,” she manages to blurt out, the excuse _highly_ embarrassing but better, at least, than the truth.

“Ah,” Corvo says in that same deceptively soft voice. “It must be your first time at Dunwall Tower, then.”

Viola stands frozen, her heart pounding. She’s only been to the Tower a handful of times, but does she dare try to lie further—?

“You’ll have to forgive Corvo, Lady Viola,” the Empress says lightly, releasing Daud’s wrist and stepping around him. Her other hand stays at Daud’s nape, decidedly possessive. “He doesn’t have the head for the names and familial connections and other minutiae of the nobility.”

The Empress _knows her name_. Under any other circumstances, this news would have been thrilling. Now, it just chills Viola to the bone.

“Of course,” she stammers out. “I could hardly expect C— the Lord Protector to remember my name.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Lady Viola,” the Royal Protector says. “Shall I escort you to the—”

“No!” The word comes out in a squeak as she spins around to look up at the Royal Protector, but Viola fears her dignity is already in unsalvageable tatters. “No, thank you, I’ll simply retrace my steps and go from there.”

“If you’re certain.” The Royal Protector’s tone is perfectly polite now, his posture straight - no more looming over her shoulder, whispering in her ear. But his eyes are crinkled at the corners, almost as if—

“I am. Certain, that is. Goodness, it’s getting late. I should take my leave, Your Majesty.” She glances over her shoulder at the Empress. Her expression is as polite as her Royal Protector’s, but the glimpse this affords Viola of Daud reveals that he is considerably more tense, and focused entirely on the other man.

“By all means,” the Empress says graciously, and Viola makes to leave.

She almost runs directly into the Royal Protector, who steps smoothly aside and braces her with a gentle hand on her elbow. “Careful,” he says lightly.

Viola says— _something_ in response, likely garbled beyond comprehension, and flees.

“First the maid, and now a noblewoman?” she hears the Royal Protector say as she goes, his teasing tone lacking its deadly edge now.

“Attano,” Daud says, strained, at odds with the almost predatory amusement the Empress and the Royal Protector were exuding. Viola risks a glance back before she turns the corner, in time to see the Royal Protector stalk into Daud’s space and seize him by the lapels. “I—” Whatever he might have said is lost as the Royal Protector pulls him up, closing the scant inches between them and smothering the words with his mouth.

A muffled groan echoes down the hallway; impossible to say who made it. Jessamine stands beside them, a look of supreme satisfaction on her face as her thumb strokes the arched column of Daud’s throat.

Viola ducks around the corner, her cheeks flaming, and somehow makes it back to the ballroom.

“Did you find them?” Esma demands; on anyone of lesser breeding, the expression on her face might have been described as a leer.

“N-no.”

“No? Goodness, but you’re so _flushed_ , darling,” Esma coos, adopting a look of almost maternal concern.

“I— stumbled across the Royal Protector, but he was alone,” Viola lies. “I had to tell him I was looking for the water closet.”

Esma erupts into a peal of laughter, pressing a fluttering hand to her throat. “Oh, you poor darling! Was Corvo a terrible brute to you?”

At her side, Treavor noisily drains his flask. “You shouldn’t speak so loudly, Esma,” he says, his eyes darting suspiciously around the room. Or perhaps he’s simply looking for another drink. He’s always struck Viola as a queer sort, even before his brothers’ executions, but Viola finds his behaviour much more justified now; at the very least, she could use another drink.

The Empress knew her _name_. What else did she know about Viola? And now Daud and the Royal Protector know her too; she doesn’t imagine that they will forget her trying to catch a glimpse of them.

“Outsider’s eyes, Treavor,” Esma says scornfully. “We’re not plotting treason like our unfortunate siblings.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Outsider speaks to few people in any generation, but there are always more mortals that catch his eye but don’t merit his mark. Some of them disappoint him before he draws them into the Void; others live lives that would not significantly change even if he did mark them.

Seven people bear his mark now, but none of them currently hold his favour. They all disappoint the Outsider eventually, in one way or another, whether it be through losing themselves to the powers of the mark, or the supposed allure of the Outsider himself, or for myriad other reasons.

In rare cases, however, one of them will draw his interest again.

The Outsider hadn’t expected Daud to be one such mortal. Countless people murdered for coin; if the Outsider had wanted to watch a paid killer, he needn’t have sought out Daud and bestowed him with his mark. To say he was disappointed when Daud chose to embrace the mantle of the Knife of Dunwall was an understatement.

But when the Royal Spymaster of the Empire of the Isles brings the Knife of Dunwall the contract of a lifetime, Daud makes a different choice.

Whether Dunwall will succumb to the rat plague, and the rest of the Isles with it, whether the reign of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin I will even continue past this year, the Outsider cannot say; but Daud’s actions in these coming days will be pivotal, as will the actions of those around him.

Jessamine Kaldwin. The half-sister of Delilah, another person the Outsider had marked and lost interest in.

Corvo Attano. A man who came from roots similar to Daud’s, but who had chosen a different path in life.

And their daughter, Emily Kaldwin. The last time the Outsider marked a child it went poorly. He does not think he will try it again so soon.

From within the Void, the Outsider watches the young girl hug Daud, seemingly oblivious to his obvious discomfort. Daud pats her back stiffly.

“Good night, Daud!” Emily says, stepping back with a bright smile. She circles around Jessamine’s desk, meeting her mother halfway to hug her and bid her good night as well.

Corvo waits at the doorway, a smaller but no less affectionate smile on his face as he watches the scene before him.

“All right, I’m ready for my bedtime story, Corvo,” Emily says gravely, returning to her father’s side. “Unless—” she glances back at Daud, “—you want to tell me the story of how you got your scar?”

It is the fifth time she has asked Daud about the jagged line bisecting the right side of his face, but Daud is as awkward about turning aside her inquiry as the first four times.

“Not tonight, darling,” Jessamine says. “Perhaps some other time.”

“If you don’t want to hear about the Pirate Queen, I suppose I could think of a different story,” Corvo adds slowly.

“No! If Daud doesn’t want to tell me about his scar, I want the Pirate Queen!” She grabs his hand and all but drags him out of the office, leaving Daud and Jessamine alone.

“I’d like to have a word, Daud,” Jessamine says.

Daud tenses, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. “That’s not ominous,” he mutters, but he goes when she beckons him over, sinking easily to his knees beside her chair. With his head bent, he must miss the way Jessamine’s eyes widen.

She masters herself quickly. “I was going to say we needed to talk, but I changed my mind,” she says lightly.

Despite her teasing tone, Daud tenses even further. “If you don’t want—”

Jessamine makes a soothing noise and cards a hand through his hair, but it doesn’t ease Daud’s tension as it has on previous occasions that the Outsider has observed. Realizing this, Jessamine exhales - not quite a sigh - and leans back.

“I want to make certain that we’re all on the same page,” she explains. “That you were comfortable with what happened last night; and if you weren’t, what Corvo and I should do differently, or not all.”

Yesterday was not the first time the three of them had been intimate. Had there been something different about the night before? The Outsider had lost interest in observing as soon as they’d shed all of their clothes, as was his custom.

It takes Daud a long time to respond, and when he does it is halting. The Outsider has little interest in this— negotiation, so he turns away from Dunwall Tower to check on the other mortals he keeps an eye on. Vera is as persistent in her attempts to regain his interest as ever. Delilah remains focused - obsessed might be a better word for it - on gaining her birthright by any means.

The Outsider cannot say whether she will succeed or not, but the futures where she does seem somehow darker than those where she fails.

* * *

Time passes, as it always has, and soon the Outsider finds it growing short. Daud is still busy adjusting to his new role, uncovering everything that Burrows had done in his seven years as Spymaster. But the Outsider cannot decide whether to approach Jessamine Kaldwin or Corvo Attano. Both of them could handle the mystery the Outsider has in store for them, but either of them could fail as well.

The Outsider draws Daud’s spirit into the Void that night. It is the first night that Daud has slept in the bed he’s shared several times now with Jessamine and Corvo, not that the Outsider pays that particular milestone any mind. It only serves as proof that Daud has a more intimate knowledge of the pair than the Outsider, and may thus be able to provide valuable insight.

“You seem fond of your new masters, my old friend,” the Outsider remarks when Daud makes his way through the cross-sectioned courtyard of the Tower, enjoying the way Daud’s shoulders tense defensively.

“They’re not my masters,” Daud snaps. The word brings to his mind the men who had stolen him away from his mother, all those years ago; Daud chose to submit himself to the mercy of the Empress and her Royal Protector, a delicate distinction that makes all the difference to him. And then, belatedly and all the more unconvincing for it, “I am not fond of them.”

“So you won’t mind if I pay either of them a visit.” The Outsider can scarcely contain his glee as Daud’s expression sours even further. “It could be useful—”

“Stay the fuck away from Corvo and Jess,” Daud snarls with such vehemence that it actually stuns the Outsider into silence. Judging by the way Daud’s eyes widen, the force of his words surprises him as well.

There was another purpose for this visit, and that question, but the Outsider had forgotten how entertaining it could be to needle Daud. He leans closer, unable to suppress his smirk. “It’s ‘Corvo’ and ‘Jess’ now, is it?”

Blood rushes to Daud’s face, flushing his cheeks in obvious embarrassment, but he does not back down. “Stay away from them,” he repeats.

“And if I do not?”

Daud narrows his eyes. “I’ll figure something out.”

The Outsider affects a hurt expression. “I don’t believe I’ve done anything to warrant this level of suspicion, Daud.”

“What do you want from them.” When the Outsider blinks at him, thrown, Daud elaborates, “Whatever you want them to do, I’ll do it.”

“Is my mark so distasteful to you?”

Daud exhales heavily, impatient. “You can’t mark the Empress of the Isles. She has too much contact with the Abbey. It’s the same for the Royal Protector.”

“ _You_ are the Royal Spymaster,” the Outsider points out coolly.

“And I’ve been a heretic for almost two decades. I know how to use my powers and hide my mark.”

“You could show them. You’ve trained your band of assassins competently enough.”

Daud raises his eyebrows but doesn’t rise to bait, disappointingly. “The risks outweighs the benefits. Better for them to be above reproach, if things go south with the Abbey.”

“Very well.” The Outsider crosses his arms. “I had thought to give whichever one of them I marked a secret, but I’ll give it to you instead. I know how you love mysteries.”

Daud scowls. “What is it.”

“It starts with a name.” The Outsider leans in, smiling. “Delilah.”


	5. Chapter 5

Emily’s still half-asleep, driven out of her bed by vague memories of a creepy dream about a boy with black eyes, and so she only really notices that Mother isn’t alone in bed - not exactly a rare occurrence - when she slips into Mother’s room.

It’s when she’s climbing awkwardly on top of the blankets, waiting for Corvo to wake up and lift the covers so she can slip into the bed between them, that she realizes it isn’t _only_ her and Mother and Corvo.

Corvo comes awake instantly, like always, but so does the third person in the bed.

“It’s Emily,” Corvo says quickly, as— _Daud_ sits up abruptly, a scary expression on his face.

Emily’s heard the servants whisper about the new Spymaster, of course. She’s the best at hide and seek - usually Corvo is the only one who can find her, but Daud is good at it too - and most of the time the servants don’t even know she’s there if she’s hiding from her tutors or some other boring duties. A lot of them had talked about an assassin; it was a while until one of them slipped up and called the assassin Daud.

At the time, Emily hadn’t exactly believed it. Sure, Daud had a crazy scar, but he’d told her he got it in a fishing accident. She can relate. There’s still a scar on her arm from the time Corvo took her fishing; it’s trickier than it looks. But seeing him now, she has no trouble believing that Daud is the Knife of Dunwall.

Daud mutters a quiet curse, rubbing a hand over his face, back to the gruff, grumpy Spymaster that Emily knows. He’s got some kind of tattoo on the back of his hand, but he drops it before Emily can stare at the lines for too long. He’s not wearing a shirt, same as Corvo, and his body is criss-crossed with more numerous and interesting scars than Corvo’s; no tattoos, though, apart from the one on his hand. So he’s probably not a pirate, like one of the younger maids said.

Emily will have to ask him about his scars, but maybe not tonight. Daud doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about himself; it was hard enough getting him to tell her about the scar on his face, and Emily definitely doesn’t believe the fishing accident story now.

“I’ll go,” Daud says gruffly.

“If you like,” Mother says. Apparently she woke up too. Corvo doesn’t say anything at all.

“What does that—” Daud cuts himself off, looking frustrated, and obviously tries to calm down. 

“You promised me there would be no secrets between us,” Mother says.

Daud scowls at her. “In my capacity as Spymaster, not as your extra bed warmer.”

Emily feels Corvo tense behind her, though she isn’t quite certain why. It feels like there’s more going on in this conversation than she knows - something she isn’t used to. When Burrows was Spymaster, he never had time for Emily unless Mother was there too, and even then it was usually Mother who explained things to Emily while Burrows waited impatiently - at least until he’d notice Corvo’s glare, and then he’d pretend like everything was fine.

Daud isn’t like that. He takes the time to explain things to Emily - with Mother’s permission - and doesn’t protest when Emily sneaks into his office. He’s much closer to Mother and Corvo than Burrows ever was, though it hadn’t been like that at first. But in the months since he was appointed, they’ve all become closer.

But now, in the awkward silence following Daud’s words, it almost feels like those early days. Back when Daud first came to the Tower - except for the fact that they’re all in Mother’s bed, of course - and acted like he didn’t quite belong and Emily doesn’t like it. She doesn’t know what to do to fix it, though.

“Is that what this is to you?” Mother’s voice almost sounds normal, but there’s that note that means she’s not happy that Emily doesn’t hear often.

From the way Daud’s eyes widen, he knows what that voice means too. “I—”

“Daud.” Corvo speaks up for the second time, rough with sleep but still not as gravelly as Daud’s voice. “We want to have you in whichever way you’re willing to give.”

Daud’s face softens for a few seconds but he quickly shakes it off and smirks. “Is that really appropriate with your daughter—”

“Daud,” Mother says sweetly, just his name and nothing more. The smirk disappears quickly, replaced by an expression that Emily can’t read.

“You can’t seriously want me to stay,” he says flatly.

“We do,” Corvo says.

Daud glances at Emily.

“All right, but if you stay you have to tell me about that scar on your side.” Emily helpfully points at the red mark carved into his side. It looks like the most recent one. Maybe he got it doing whatever it is he did to get appointed the Royal Spymaster instead of stinky Burrows, and he’ll slip up and tell her about it.

Daud blinks at her for several seconds, a weird look on his face. But it’s all right, because lots of people look like that when Emily asks them questions. After a second, he glances over her head at Mother and Corvo. Whatever he sees makes his shoulders relax, and a crooked grin curls one side of his mouth up. “Why don’t you ask Corvo? I’m sure he’s much better at telling bedtime stories, _and_ he was the one to give it to me.”

Emily gasps, twisting around to glare at Corvo, who looks very guilty. It’s the same look he gets when Mother catches them playing hide and seek when Emily should be attending her lessons. “ _Corvo_!”

“I— He cut me too!” Corvo’s eyes widen and cut quickly to Mother. “I mean—” He winces, but still reaches up to catch her when Emily flings herself at him.

“It was self-defense,” Daud says smugly.

“You attacked Daud?” Emily cries, cupping Corvo’s face between her hands like she’s seen Mother do. She leans in, eyes narrowed. “What has Mother told you about attacking people un-pro-voked?” She enunciates the last word carefully; she’s heard Mother say it, but never used it before herself.

Behind her, Daud makes a choking sound. He’s found a crumpled shirt - Corvo’s, probably, since it’s white instead of Daud’s usual grey - and has pulled it on, though it’s still unbuttoned. After a second, she realizes Daud is _laughing_ , not choking. It’s— a weird sound, but not bad.

“It won’t happen again, Em,” Corvo says gravely. He looks really serious when she glances back at him. “Promise.”

Emily huffs. “Good.”

“Darling,” Mother says, a smile in her voice, “that’s enough. It’s late, and we should all get to sleep.”

“Strong words from the person we practically had to drag away from her desk—” Daud grunts and falls silent. A few seconds later, sounding strained, he mutters, “Outsider’s ass—”

“Language,” Emily says severely, trying to copy her etiquette tutor at her most disapproving.

“I said ‘eyes’,” Daud corrects her, then flinches. “Ow! Damn— _Darn_ it, Jess,” he hisses.

Mother smiles at him. “Pull up the covers, will you? It’s getting chilly.”

Emily snuggles up with Mother, curled up on her side with Mother at her back. Corvo always puts his arm over both of them, on the nights that he sleeps in Mother’s bed, and tonight is no different.

Daud, when he lies down, is right on the edge of the bed, not touching any of them at all. He’s on his back, an expression that Emily doesn’t know how to read on the side of his face that she can see. His eyes are closed, but there’s no way he’s asleep. For one, he just laid down; secondly, he’s too tense to not be awake.

Emily’s hair rustles against her cheek as Mother sighs quietly, her arm tightening around Emily’s middle. Emily bites her lip. Mother and Corvo and Daud were all lying pressed up in the bed together when Emily came in, so it’s obviously because of her that things have changed.

Daud didn’t like it when she hugged him, Emily recalls now. Or, at the very least, it made him uncomfortable. And Emily doesn’t like it when people come up to her and pat her head or try to hug her and she doesn’t know them very well either, so it’s not like she can’t understand that. She’d just thought, because Mother and Corvo obviously liked Daud, that it would be all right for Emily to hug him. But it’s probably too soon for hugs; they don’t really know each other very well yet, even if Emily already thinks of Daud as a friend. And if it’s too soon for hugs, it’s definitely too soon to cuddle together to sleep.

“Corvo, move over,” Emily orders.

“Emily, what—” Corvo grunts as Emily clambers over Mother and flops down on his chest, burrowing between him and Mother.

“I can still go,” Daud says, sitting up; Emily still can’t read his face, and she doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell what that tone of voice means either.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother and Corvo say at the time, both of them glaring at him. Emily glares too, for good measure.

Daud’s shoulders rise, an uneasy look crossing his scarred face. “I—”

“If you try to leave, I’ll cry,” Emily announces. Then, thinking about what had driven her to switch to Mother’s other side in the first place, quickly adds, “Unless you really want to go. That’s all right, then.”

Daud glances at Mother, then dips his head in a slow nod. “I’ll stay.” He lays down again, closer to Mother this time, and on his side so he’s facing her.

“Comfy?” Emily asks, raising her head to peer at him over Mother’s shoulder. That’s what Corvo used to say to her when he tucked her into bed when she was little.

“Yeah,” Daud says. “I am.”

“Good.” She drops her head back to the pillow, hiding her smile.

“Thanks, Em,” she hears Corvo murmur as she drifts off; the last thing she feels before she falls asleep is Corvo pressing a kiss to the top of her head.


End file.
